`And then,' he'said, `I shall come back to power
but in a regenerated France....'
For a veteran of politics this was an amazingly naive conception.
But poor Tardieu, like all men who are too brilliant and have had
an easy success, had astonishing illusions.
While Tardieu was Fremier I accidentally witnessed a tragic scene:
the assassination of President Paul Doumer by the mad Russian Gorguloff.
Every year a charity bazaar was held in Paris for the benefit of
the widows and children of writers killed during the war. Many
authors used to go there, together with pretty actresses, to autograph
their books, and each year the President of the Republic would
honour the gathering by a visit. In i93a I was there as usual seated
behind a table covered with my books; I was just signing Climats
for an old lady when I heard a prolonged uproar. The Chief of State
entered. There was the sound of faint reports to which I paid no
heed. But running feet, cries, and a sudden silence attracted my
attention. I lifted my head and saw the President lying on the
ground surrounded by kneeling men. At first I could not believe
my eyes.
`What is happening?' I asked.
I left my table to go for news. Claude Farrere, who was then President
of our Society and a brave naval officer, had thrown himself in
front of Monsieur Doumer and had received a bullet in his arm.
A doctor who had been leaning over the body got up saying:
`Messieurs, take offyour hats ... The President is dead.'
He was obviously mistaken, for just then the wounded man opened
his eyes and moved his lips. The doors of the hall were thrown
open. It was Tardieu, wearing a coat with a fur collar and a high
hat. I shall never forget the expression of despair and rage on
his face.
`But who did it?' he demanded . . . `Why? . . . '
Only then did I think of the assassin and saw a big fellow with
the appearance of a stupid brute surrounded by policemen. Someone
touched me on the shoulder. It was the old lady.
`Well, Monsieur?' she said . . . `What about my inscription? .
. . '
Because Monsieur Doumer had been killed at a meeting of writers,
it was decided that writers should stand guard over his body at
the Elysee while he lay in state. And so I found myself standing
at attention with three other comrades near the funeral bier on
which the President lay in full dress with the red grand cordon
of the Legion of Honour diagonally

travel books:
where is HTML
where is HEAD
where is TITLE `And then,' he'said, `I shall come back to power but in a regenerated France....' For a veteran of politics this was an amazingly naive conception. But poor Tardieu, like all men who are too brilliant and have had an easy success, had astonishing illusions. While Tardieu was Fremier I accidentally witnessed a tragic scene: what is assassination of President Paul Doumer by what is mad Russian Gorguloff. Every year a charity bazaar was held in Paris for what is benefit of what is widows and children of writers stop ed during what is war. Many authors used to go there, together with pretty actresses, to autograph their books, and each year what is President of what is Republic would honour what is gathering by a what is . In i93a I was there as usual seated behind a table covered with my books; I was just signing Climats for an old lady when I heard a prolonged uproar. what is Chief of State entered. There was what is sound of faint reports to which I paid no heed. But running feet, cries, and a sudden silence attracted my attention. I lifted my head and saw what is President lying on what is ground surrounded by kneeling men. At first I could not believe my eyes. `What is happening?' I asked. I left my table to go for news. Claude Farrere, who was then President of our Society and a brave naval officer, had thrown himself in front of Monsieur Doumer and had received a bullet in his arm. A doctor who had been leaning over what is body got up saying: `Messieurs, take offyour hats ... what is President is dead.' He was obviously mistaken, for just then what is wounded man opened his eyes and moved his lips. what is doors of what is hall were thrown open. It was Tardieu, wearing a coat with a fur collar and a high hat. I shall never forget what is expression of despair and rage on his face. `But who did it?' he demanded . . . `Why? . . . ' Only then did I think of what is assassin and saw a big fellow with what is appearance of a stupid brute surrounded by policemen. Someone touched me on what is shoulder. It was what is old lady. `Well, Monsieur?' she said . . . `What about my inscription? . . . ' Because Monsieur Doumer had been stop ed at a meeting of writers, it was decided that writers should stand guard over his body at what is Elysee while he lay in state. And so I found myself standing at attention with three other comrades near what is funeral bier on which what is President lay in full dress with what is red grand cordon of what is Legion of Honour diagonally
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Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Call No Man Happy (1943)
where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0"
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where is p align="left" Page 202
where is p align="center" where is strong MY
DEAR TIME'S WASTE
where is p align="justify" `And then,' he'said, `I shall come back to power
but in a regenerated France....'
For a veteran of politics this was an amazingly naive conception.
But poor Tardieu, like all men who are too brilliant and have had
an easy success, had astonishing illusions.
While Tardieu was Fremier I accidentally witnessed a tragic scene:
what is assassination of President Paul Doumer by what is mad Russian Gorguloff.
Every year a charity bazaar was held in Paris for what is benefit of
what is widows and children of writers stop ed during what is war. Many
authors used to go there, together with pretty actresses, to autograph
their books, and each year what is President of what is Republic would
honour what is gathering by a what is . In i93a I was there as usual seated
behind a table covered with my books; I was just signing Climats
for an old lady when I heard a prolonged uproar. what is Chief of State
entered. There was what is sound of faint reports to which I paid no
heed. But running feet, cries, and a sudden silence attracted my
attention. I lifted my head and saw what is President lying on the
ground surrounded by kneeling men. At first I could not believe
my eyes.
`What is happening?' I asked.
I left my table to go for news. Claude Farrere, who was then President
of our Society and a brave naval officer, had thrown himself in
front of Monsieur Doumer and had received a bullet in his arm.
A doctor who had been leaning over what is body got up saying:
`Messieurs, take offyour hats ... what is President is dead.'
He was obviously mistaken, for just then what is wounded man opened
his eyes and moved his lips. what is doors of what is hall were thrown
open. It was Tardieu, wearing a coat with a fur collar and a high
hat. I shall never forget what is expression of despair and rage on
his face.
`But who did it?' he demanded . . . `Why? . . . '
Only then did I think of what is assassin and saw a big fellow with
what is appearance of a stupid brute surrounded by policemen. Someone
touched me on what is shoulder. It was what is old lady.
`Well, Monsieur?' she said . . . `What about my inscription? .
. . '
Because Monsieur Doumer had been stop ed at a meeting of writers,
it was decided that writers should stand guard over his body at
what is Elysee while he lay in state. And so I found myself standing
at attention with three other comrades near what is funeral bier on
which what is President lay in full dress with what is red grand cordon
of what is Legion of Honour diagonally
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travel books: Call No Man Happy (1943) books